Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori
by Pathseldomtraveled
Summary: The old lie. Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. Please R&R. This story was inspired by Wilfred Owen's Dulce et Decorum est.


IT IS SWEET AND RIGHT TO DIE FOR YOUR COUNTRY

Man had it been a long stint in surgery and now I had my shift in Post-op to do. As I made my rounds, checking on each patient, I couldn't help but notice the one empty bed. It glared at me, a pristine white surface amongst all of the rumpled sheets that rested gently on occupied beds. The vacancy represented today's only death in surgery. I guess I should be grateful that only one, out of the hundreds operated on today, died. But it's hard to be happy when he died on my table. I couldn't get the vacant look of Private Bidwell's dead eyes out of my mind.

"Hawkeye, you did the best you could. He was pretty much gone when he got here." Startled, I jumped around and was face to face with Nurse Kellye. It constantly surprised me how she seemed to always know exactly what you're thinking and feeling. She was kind of like the female version of Radar.

"How are the rest of the patients doing?"

"Private O'Brian is starting to wake up." Private O'Brian had been a tough case. He'd come in with Private Bidwell and was almost as bad off as his comrade. I'd worked on him too.

"Okay. Thanks Kellye." I walked over to Private O'Brian's bed, which ironically was next to the empty one, and silently sat down. I waited patiently for him completely wake up. I was not looking forward to this next part. Apart from losing patients, the thing I hate the most has to be telling the families and friends bad news. In a war hospital it is even worse These are people who 

have gone through horrendous things together, people who would willingly give up their lives for each other. It's depressing to see the shame in their eyes when they find out that they "failed" to save their friend. Don't they understand that it's not a failure on their part, but on mine?

"Doctor?" I was mercifully startled out of my reverie.

"It's good to see you coming around Private O'Bri—"

"Call me Mike."

"How do you feel Mike?"

"I feel fine Doc, but what about Jeff?" There it was; the question that I had been dreading. He had a right to know. What could I do? Refuse to answer the question? All I could do was look him in the eye, give him the terrible news, and just be there for him. Sounds simple right? I wish it was.

"Mike. I'm so sorry, but Private Bidwell didn't make it. We tried our best, but he was just too wounded. I'm sorry." Cheap words, but they were all I had to offer. I watched his reaction. I hate these moments. I always feel incredibly inadequate. Mike just laid there. Looking at me, but not really seeing me. He was looking beyond me and I don't now what at. His eyes held such a fathomless sadness though. I did not know what to do in the face of his grief. I sometimes think 

it is better when they yell at me. Shout at me. Scream at me in a voice loud enough to wake all of Korea. Do anything but this silence, which seems to be louder than any cry ever heard.

"It's just not fair." I practically jumped out of my skin. That's twice in the last hour that someone tried to do the North Korean's job by scaring me to death. I looked back at Mike. What could I say? Life's not fair? But wait. I had forgotten. All is fair in love and war.

"He was so young and so innocent. Why did it have to be him?"

"Things just happen Mike. There's no rhyme or reason. It just is." What else could I say?

"He was the type of soldier that you always see in the movies. You know. The young blonde blue-eyed type. He was the only one in our unit who actually volunteered. The only one not drafted…" Mike drifted off.

I didn't know what to say. What could I've said? Nothing. I don't think there were any words that would have helped. I just sat there as Mike stared off into some unknown time and place. I could not follow him and for that I was very thankful. Sometimes ignorance _is _bliss.

"I was never able to understand why some one would willingly join this war. I remember asking him why on earth he did it, wondering if perhaps he should get a Section 8. He would just laugh and stare dreamily off into the distance. At length he would answer that he wanted to do something special. _Be _something special. I can still hear him 'Mike' he said. 'You know how in 

the movies, the guy goes off to war and becomes a hero? It doesn't even matter if he dies because it was a noble death. I just want my life to mean something. And if I die, at least I'll know that it was a good death, a hero's death. One that your parents can be proud of and your friends admire. Whether I live or die, I will at least know that I was a hero.'"

I understand now. I can practically picture it. The kid's at home and watches all of the war movies. He sees how all the heroes boldly defy death at every turn. Sometimes the hero even dies, but that doesn't matter. It was such heroic death. The kid admires the hero and yearns for that same kind of glory. And when you combine the movies with all of the war stories that you hear on the news or over the radio, you get kids like Jeff. Kids, mere boys, who think that the most glorious thing they can do is to become a soldier and, if they're lucky, perhaps even die and become an everlasting hero.

What the kids don't see, something that the movies don't show, is the all blood and gore. They don't know what it's like to see a battlefield full of the dead and dying. They've never seen limbs lying on a ground that is stained red by the gallons of blood that have been shed. They don't hear the cries of the wounded as they beg to be back at home. These are the harsh realities of war that you can bet will never be in a movie. It would be bad for the army business.

"Do you want to know how he died?" I didn't, but I knew Mike needed someone to tell his story to. I am a doctor, dedicated to the welfare of others. What choice did I have but to listen?

"It wasn't right Doc. He never even got to see a battle. We had been having a break in the fighting and no one was worried for their safety. We thought we were all safe. Anyway Jeff got up to do something or another; I don't really know what, and got shot. Twice. I guess there was a sniper in the hills around us. I ran over to him. That's how I was shot. When I got to him I could see right away that he was in trouble. He was clutching his stomach as if to keep everything in and he kept crying and screaming for his mama. He just laid there and cried. He didn't even know he was in Korea. I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back into our foxhole. All the while he was crying and screaming for his mama. God, he didn't even know what hit him. It took a long time for a medic to be able to reach us. There was heavy fighting else where I guess. While we waited, I just sat there with him in my arms, rocking him back and forth until he finally passed out. I guess he never woke up again."

There was silence again. We were each in our own separate thoughts. All I could think was what kind of boy would want to die like that? Had his bloody gruesome death at the hands of a sniper make him feel like a hero? Had he thought, as he lay there dying, at least I will be known as a hero? Were those his last thoughts? Maybe it would have given me comfort to have been able to convince myself that these were indeed his last thoughts, but I knew differently. His last thoughts, I'm sure, dwelt on the pain and fear he must have felt. I bet all he wanted at that moment was to go back home and now he never can.

"I'm so sorry Mike. I know it must be hard for you."

"They wouldn't even give him a medal Doc. My CO said they wouldn't accept it. He said he'd put the paper work in for me though. He said he was sure I would get one. That's the army for you. They wouldn't give Jeff a metal; so instead, they tried to give me one, a Bronze Star. They said it was for my act of valor. Hah! What do they know of valor!? They sit in their comfy chairs nice and snug! Warm and full! Safe… And they are the ones to say who deserves what. Jeff didn't get his metal because they think it is less heroic to die by a sniper than on the battlefield! Neither one is heroic."

"Leave it to the army, in its infinite wisdom, to be run by a bunch of brass who have no experience on the battlefield. I'd like to know how they expect to run a war when they've never even seen a battle. To them all the dead boys are merely markers on a map." It was the only thing I could think to say. It was the truth.

"It's not right Doc."

"You're right, but now you need your rest. Okay?"

"Yeah Doc. Thanks for hearing me out."

Your welcome? No, I don't think any words would do. He needed to talk and I had provided a listing ear. I would much rather have not heard though. It's hard enough working on all of the wounded, but when you start adding stories and faces to the boys it's damn near impossible.

I started thinking about all of the boys who had come through this MASH and also about all of the ones whom I had failed to save. Did they have similar stories, stories that can cast a shade on the sun itself? Each one of them had a family and friends at home. Did they also have this disillusioned view of heroism?

I was startled, for the third time today, out of my bleak musings by a gently placed hand on my shoulder. I looked up from my seat and found myself staring into the kind eyes of my best friend. Don't ever doubt the comfort that can be drawn from a good friend. BJ seemed to know immediately the mood I was in.

"Hawk, you look exhausted. Go get some sleep. Your shift's over. Leave some fun for the rest of us poor souls." That brief bit of levity gave me the strength I needed to get up and start towards the door.

"Alright Beej. I'm all laughed out anyway."

"You look it."He peered at me for a little while and then asked, "Seriously Hawk, are you okay?"

"Yeah Beej," I could tell by his look that he didn't believe me. "Listen, I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Okay?"

"Yeah. Alright. Go get some sleep now. I'll hold down the fort."

As I walked out of Post-op I glanced back at Mike. He was sound asleep. He slept the sleep of innocence. No lost life weighed heavy on his soul. He was guiltless and that is how it should be. He's one boy who will be returning home safely, albeit a little damaged. In sharp contrast with his innocent slumber, I slept the sleep of the dead that night. I can't complain, because it is the only rest I can get without envisioning the cries of wounded boys. Their deaths haunt my dreams and it is only by briefly joining them that I am able to retreat into a sanctuary of blissful oblivion. It is on these rare nights that I get the rest we all, everyone at this unit, so badly need.

God end this war soon.

Please.

THE END

(Although I fear it might be just the beginning)


End file.
